Dead or Alive: Immortality
by Synthesis
Summary: Set between DOA3 and DOAX, Ayane leaves Japan, taking it upon herself to destroy an immortal she knows very well. UPDATED.
1. Default Chapter

**Dead or Alive: Immortality**

**Chapter 1 – Why School and Cashiering are Important**

_"Konbanwa, Ayane. It's been a long time."_

That was what he was planning to say. It was good, straightforward, to the point: personality-wise, he thought it was appropriate for him.

Still, it might not have been perfect. Besides the obvious fact that it was no longer the appropriate time of the day to say "konbanwa", it might have left the impression that he had missed her. Of course, it wasn't to say that he disliked her: on the contrary, he had, over the years, slowly grown fond of Ayane. At least as fond of her as he was of anyone. The two shared more in common that one might expect initially. They both had been given opportunities to rise to greatness, only to reject them in favor of solitude and solidarity with themselves. They both preferred the company of good scenery than of loud, sometimes obnoxious companions.

And there was the obvious fact that they were both Shinobi, albeit they came of different tribes.

The fact was that Ryu Hayabusa, heir-apparent to the Hayabusa Clan and modern-day 'super-ninja' (if such a thing existed), was not the best person with words. The fact that he was somewhat older than Ayane further pressured him to give at least a half-decent greeting, if he could not give a great oration.

_How about..."Hello, Ayane.__ It's good to see you in good health."? No, that won't work. I've used 'good' in a very short phrase twice. _It was times like this where Hayabusa honestly wished he had had the same access to high school as Ayane had, though, given what he had heard the experience was like (at least, according to Ayane), he probably would have killed at least two people before the first year was done.

Hayabusa had never had access to formal education. Everything he knew, academically, he was either taught by his clan's teachers as a child or he had learned from his management of a small curio shop. He had opened the antique/trinket store shortly after turning nineteen, both as a way to keep himself preoccupied that was not unnecessarily violent and also allowed him to dispose of the various items he acquired on his numerous quests that he was occasionally obligated to do. Old katanas, golden scarabs, various documents and manuscripts—all of them could be purchased for a more than reasonable price, and the money went either to his small savings or to pay expenses for eating food that you did not have to hunt or barter for from your tribe. Food that came from restaurants or venders.

He had learned a lot from that curio shop, and opening it was probably one of the best choices he ever made.

_"Hello, Ayane. I'm glad to see you well." No...wait...that might give her the impression that I didn't expect her to be alive or something. That won't do. _The fact that he would sit around and mull over the various conations a word could have was a closely-guarded secret: Ryu Hayabusa _never _repeated himself, nor was he slow to respond or react. As a result, most of the time, he said whatever was on his mind. This time, he wanted to do it right. But it was a common courtesy to the younger Shinobi, nothing else.

_Perhaps "Hello, Ayane.__ How may I help?" It doesn't lend itself to any feelings, and it's practical...but it does have a sort of subservient air...if I could just get rid of that._

"Hayabusa-sama!"

Ryu Hayabusa jolted back to reality and looked down from the tree branch where he was perched. Beneath him, about ten meters from his tree, stood a familiar physique. Surprisingly short...more than twenty centimeters shorter than himself, and very petite. But underneath that black leather armor, one could tell she was quite muscular and _very _buxom. Ryu allowed himself to fall to the forest floor, landing with ease on his feet, as she approached.

Ayane, the young, lavender-haired _kunochi_. Half-sister of Ryu's good friend Hayate, professional assassin, the most powerful Shinobi in Hajin Mon, and potential the next leader of the Mugen Tenshin School if she so desired it. Very impressive, when one considered she was barely seventeen.

He regarded her with a nod. "Ayane-san."

She bowed deeply, a sign of respect. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

"Of course. What did you need help with?"

She was slow to reply. Almost reluctant, as if telling Hayabusa would implicate him somehow. "I've...taken an extended leave from the School so that I might pursuit an extremely delicate manner."

He continued to listen. _I wonder where she will go with this..._

"I have...I have not formally explained the situation to Hayate-onnesan," she admitted.

He wasn't surprised. It made sense why she had come to him, and he knew what she was going to ask next. Nevertheless, he let her tell him.

"I'd like your assistance, to appeal to onnesan."

Hayabusa nodded. He would gladly help her, as it was not such an unreasonable request. Still, he had to ask. "What is so sensitive of your mission that you cannot tell it to your own brother?"

Ayane bit down on her lip. She had remarkable composure for a girl her age—truly mind-boggling poise when she wanted it. At the moment, it couldn't really help. "You know of DOATEC's superhuman project?"

He nodded, surprised. It had been more than a year since anyone even mentioned DOATEC's little biological mischief. "_Project Epsilon_," he said, slowly and in English.

"It would seem that not all of Project Epsilon was buried after you destroyed Bankotsu-bo."

Hayabusa closed his eyes momentarily, thinking back to his battle with the Tengu of Destruction at the end of the Dead or Alive Tournament. Not the most difficult fight he had ever faced, especially given the prize that DOATEC paid out to him for doing it. But what did she mean, buried? What had been buried? She couldn't have meant Tengu... "What do you mean?" he asked her directly.

"It was only as I was on my way to defeat..._Project Omega_...that I realized that Project Epsilon's handiwork still existed."

There was some vague traces of emotion in Ayane's voice, of genuine pain. The previous Dead or Alive Tournament had ended with Ayane's destruction of Genra. Genra had been the victim of DOATEC's continued attempts at genetic engineering. But before that, he had been one of Ayane's foster parents, probably the one with the most significance. Hayabusa could not even begin to imagine what it was like to kill one's father—and while Ayane struck him as the sort of person who would at least try to kill anyone, regardless of blood-ties, it must have been extraordinarily difficult for her. With this in mind, he came to a decision.

"Ayane-san, I will help you. But you must tell me exactly what this is all about."

She nodded, an expression of relief forming on her face. "The truth is, Project Epsilon's long-lasting effects had less bearing on you or I, then on the Runaway."

_The Runaway._Ayane obviously meant Kasumi, her elder Half-Sister, and a major reason for Ayane's seemingly limitless capacity for hatred. He wondered if Kasumi was still the center of Ayane's universe, as she had been the year before. Probably not—the two had had multiple encounters since then, and if that were still the case, only one of them should have been alive.

Ayane continued. "The Superhuman Project, Project Epsilon—part of what it did was to create a duplicate of her. They called her 'Kasumi X'. Maybe you heard of her."

He had heard rumors, but nothing more. Nothing had ever held long enough to be substantiated.

"The Runaway eventually destroyed her, I believe. But during the last DOA tournament, I learned that DOATEC maintained several of these 'clones', to this day." She looked down at the ground. "Their continued existence is an abomination. I must destroy them. I can only trust myself to handle this."

Hayabusa crossed his arms in front of his chest. "So you want me to convince your brother into allowing you to do this."

"I could not ask him—he knows of the relationship between me and..._her_...he would assume I was doing this out of sadism."

"And you're not?"

"_Iyey_. I am doing this, because I will not allow more of her to be created. Everything up to this point...Genra, Tengu, DOATEC...all of that pales in comparison to the notion of copies of the Runaway."

Hayabusa stared directly at Ayane, until she regained eye contact with him. "So...you plan to find all of them and kill them?"

"Yes, I will."

_It was all too easy for her to say that. _"Ayane...I know I'm not in the position to say this, but I'm going to anyway. I know you have no love for your sister. And you are right; DOATEC cannot be allowed to continue with their sins. But understand...these _clones_...they are still human." He sighed, feeling it was useless. His words penetrated Ayane the same way wind penetrated a stone wall. "I will appeal to your brother."

Ayane closed her eyes and bowed deeply again. "_Arigatou_, Hayabusa-sama."

He smiled at her faintly. It was amazing how such a small body, the same body that, not long ago, wore a blue schoolgirl's uniform almost every day, could contain so much pride. And sometimes, even a certain amount of dignity. Ayane was beautiful in her own way, but unlike other kunochi, her beauty on the surface was masked by what was underneath. She was seventeen now—he could only begin to imagine how powerful she would be in five years, when she reached his present age. _Perhaps she will slow down by then._ He smirked mentally. _Or perhaps I will be dead_. "Call me Ryu, Ayane-chan."

She looked up at him and blinked. "Arigatou, Ryu."

Feeling what needed to be said had been, he turned around, and with a swift gesture, disappeared into the forest, leaving the proud one by herself.

**Author's Notes:**

The first chapter of my very own DOA Saga. Hope you liked it, please r&r! Now, you might be wondering how I'm able to keep rolling these things out one by one...currently, I'm on vacation in a place where, despite speaking the language, I don't know where anything is (no, it's _not _in the western hemisphere). So I have a lot of free time.

Also, with this being a _saga_, I _will _be updating it in due time, unlike my past two DOA works (including the Ninja Gaiden one, sorry folks). Keep checking for updates!


	2. Killing Elvis

**Dead or Alive: Immortality**

**Chapter 2 – Killing Elvis**

_"Home Base, this is Red Three, reporting in. Pier two is all clear, I repeat, the pier is clear."_

_"Affirmative, Red Three. Red Six, what's your status?"_

_"The docks are clear, Home Base. Everything looks real good."_

_"Right then, we'll go ahead on schedule...Jaguar Leader, are you there? Jaguar Leader, come in."_

_"This is Jaguar Leader, Home Base. I hear you."_

_"Jaguar Leader, we are in the clear. I repeat, we are in the clear. Elvis may land at Home One at own discretion."_

_"Roger, Home Base. This is Elvis. ETA is...four minutes."_

_"Acknowledged. Home Base, out."_

_"Roger that. Jaguar flight, everything's clear, bug out at your discretion."_

_"Affirmative, Elvis. See you back at base."_

A curious fact about Shinobi was that, despite the fact that their services have worldwide demand, have little linguistic skills outside Japanese and Mandarin Chinese. For instance, the Shinobi whom was listening in on this conversation, which was entirely in English, couldn't hope to decipher what was being said.

The speaker at the radio, a Westerner dressed in quasi-military apparel and sporting a communications headset, stood up from his station behind a communications console and stared out of the large windows. From the windows, which were part of a construct overlooking a pier in Hong Kong, he could see various ships in one of the busiest harbors in the world. The view of this "Home Base"was dominated by the "Home One", a massive private luxury yacht docked in the pier. He adjusted his glasses and looked up, just in time to see "Jaguar Flight", three F-14D 'Tomcats', veer off and away, into the storm clouds. Beneath them, on the deck of the yacht, "Elvis", a large transport helicopter, was slowly setting down, a testament to just how massive the yacht was.

He stretched his arms, before turning away from the windows, towards a small coffee-maker that sat on a desk in the back of the room. Approaching it, he flipped the switch, causing it to bubble loudly. Loudly enough to hide the sound of a ventilation panel slowly opening from the ceiling.

He continued staring at the coffee, even as a young woman with lavender hair dropped down from the ventilation shaft no more than a meter behind him, landing like a cat with one leg bent in and the other extended out. Now humming a tune, he took off his headset, lifted the coffee pot from the machine, and began pouring the contents into a mug.

The Kunoichi slowly approached him, holding a length of wire in her hands. She was required to stand at full height, as that was the only way she could hope to reach his neck, though instinct told her she should hunch over. He kept on humming and began sniffing the coffee suspiciously.

Then, when she was about twenty centimeters from his neck, he decided to turn around.

His first reaction was to go for the gun he kept in a holster at his waist, but with the coffee cup in his hands, he was unable to do so quickly enough. The Kunoichi jerked the wire away with her left hand, revealing that the right end was tied to small but very sharp knife, which she brought back in the opposite direction. It slit him across his front, from the left side of his neck to the right side of the sternum.

He gasped, let his mug fall from his hands, and fell to the ground, in a terrific state of shock. Even before he was truly dead, blood began to pool and mix with black coffee.

Ayane inspected her work, then reached down and opened the dead's left breast pocket. Inside was a plastic keycard, with a yellow stripe and yellow lettering on it. She pocketed it, then spotted his holster around his waist.

Ignoring the blood, she reached down again, opened the holster, and pulled out his gun. Ayane knew very little about guns, having obeyed the Shinobi's Common Laws to the letter. It wasn't heavy, but it felt very dense in her hands. Like many Japanese, her ability to read English characters was superior to her ability to speak or listen to them. Putting what limited knowledge she had of English to use, she inscription on the side.

"G...Lock...Au...stria."

There was one thing Ayane knew about guns, and she believed it was the only thing she needed to know. With the Glock 17 in one hand and her knife in the other, she groped it until she felt a small catch, then pressed down. The gun's slide fell free and landed amongst the pool of the blood, and the magazine did the same.

She tossed the rest of the gun into the pool of coffee and blood, then turned to the communications console. A red light flashed on the surface, and she tapped the switch beneath it.

_"Home Base, this is Elvis. Confirming our arrival at Home One."_ There was a buzz, and the radio clicked off. She looked out the large windows, at the helicopter. The door on the side facing towards her slid open, and on the deck of the yacht, she saw him. It was only for a second, a man dressed in a blue suit, surrounded by several companions with umbrellas.

_There he is._ She slid the knife back into one of the various holsters on her leather bodysuit, and turned to the door. Ayane exited into the rain outside, and leapt nimbly down, over the rail. She landed silently behind a guard dressed in a yellow rubber raincoat, holding a sub-machinegun. He failed to notice her until she grabbed his head through his hood and twisted it until his neck made a popping noise.

Rather than just let him crumple to the ground, Ayane dragged the guard into the shadows beneath the communications balcony. She dismantled another gun, as a precaution, and turned towards the yacht. Squinting through the darkness, she did her best to read the words, printed in English in ornate script, along the side.

**HELENA III**

_What an incredibly stupid name for a boat. No wonder they called it 'Home One'. _Even though it wasn't her plan, she made a mental note to destroy the _Helena III _if possible. Underneath the massive six-letter word was another statement, in small but clear utilitarian script.

**Douglas-O'Brien-Anderson Technologies**

_DOATEC.__ That must be it. _Ayane's information, as usual, had been rather sketchy, but the name on the yacht seemed to confirm it. Granted, she only recognized one of the names: Douglas, as in Fame Douglas, the CEO of DOATEC, and father of that annoying French opera-star Helena. Helena had accused, and probably still believed, that Ayane had killed her mother, Fame Douglas' mistress. Ayane hadn't: she couldn't have. The murder took place more than a decade ago, long before Ayane began her career as a kunoichi. Furthermore, Helena (the mother shared the name of the child) had been killed by a sharpshooter with a scoped rifle. Ayane would never violate the code of the Shinobi by using a firearm on a mission.

Either way, that hadn't swayed Helena (the daughter), and Ayane found herself wishing she _had _killed Helena I, preferably before Helena II was born, so that she wouldn't invariably have to see her once a year during the DOA Tournament.

But now wasn't the time to bother with that. Reaching one's goal here was the same as reaching any goal—one had to remain focused. Wiping the rain out of her eyes, she waited until the two guards at the end of the pier glanced away and sprinted down the deck. About a meter from the edge of the deck, she leapt, swung on a power line, and flung herself into the boat.

            

"Great weather we're having out there, aren't we?"

"Fantastic. That's the thing about Hong Kong, I suppose."

The door leading into the small conference room in the yacht opened, and a balding man with a well-trimmed blue suit entered. He took a seat at the table opposite the room's other occupant.

The balding man smiled, resting his arms on the table. "So, what do you want, Mr. Donovan?"

Alexander Donovan O'Brien smiled. "What makes you think I want something, Walter?"

The other man, Walter Yang, who was still in possession of all of his hair, leaned forward. "Come on. You called me out here from Shanghai. When I _refused_, you arranged for a military escort. You even brought _the boat_ out. You must want something." He relaxed, glancing out the windows of the conference cabin, located on the top of the ship, below and in front of the bridge. "I'm actually a little surprised you still have it. And more so that you haven't changed the name."

Another door to the cabin opened, causing Yang to glance in that direction. A waiter entered, bowed politely, and set down a glass at Yang's place. When he turned back to him, Donovan smiled. "Think of it as a tribute to our late CEO, the good Mr. Douglas." He reached for his own glass and raised it. "May he rest in peace."

Walter smiled back and did likewise. "_Kampai_."

Donovan took a short sip and set the glass down, before scratching his face. Yang emptied his glass and spoke, in a raspy voice. "Speaking of which...is Anderson here?"

"Sadly, no. I tried to convince him to come, but I was unable to." Donovan glanced out the window, at the raging thunderstorm. "The man's definitely paranoid. Probably a reason why he supported me against Douglas in the first place. He had nothing to gain...he was just more afraid of me than of Douglas."

Yang nodded. "That's not entirely surprising. You've given yourself quite a reputation, Donovan. Especially with that Bayman incident."

Donovan scowled. "Don't remind me. Keeping _that problem _from growing into an even _greater problem_ has become both an exercise in creativity and a perpetual headache."

"I've heard he's the reason you've kept on running the Tournament, even after Douglas."

Donovan shrugged. "It's just one reason. That, and the fact that most of the Tournament's hardcore fans are either underground gangsters or eccentric billionaires. Two groups that it's good to keep under your thumb."

Yang grinned. "Like me."

"Like you. Which brings us to the matter, why I need your help."

No less than a kilometer from the _Helena III_, atop the numerous crates stacked on a parked cargo ship, three cloaked figures walked casually along, holding heavy equipment over their shoulders.

"I really hate this fucking weather."

"Yes, Xiao. I know. You hate it," the leading figure, who carried a long, narrow case in her hand, responded.

"I'm just saying," Xiao whispered from underneath his raincoat hood. "We've got forty click an hour wind speeds, we've got severe thunderstorms, and we've got a potential flash-flooding warning. _In Hong Kong_. Don't they cancel missions when this sort of thing happens?"

The third man, trailing along in the back with a boxier suitcase, answered. "We're not an airline, Xiao, for Christ sakes. We don't announce delays because of inclement weather."

"Thank you, Frankie."

Xiao slowed his pace down so that he was next to Frankie. He made a whipping gesture with his free hand.

"Ha ha, Xiao."

"Both of you shut up. We're here."

The three stared out at the rough seas outside Hong Kong, squinting to see the _Helena III_.

"...you sure this is the right place, boss?"

She tossed a small black object to Xiao, who reached forward to catch it, only to have it slip through his hands. "Either that, or the GPS satellites are lying."

"Could be the weather."

"What? Is it raining in space?"

Xiao struggled to pick it the GPS. "Jesus, boss, I think you went a little overboard on the waterproofing. The thing's completely covered…some sort of oily, thick gel." He turned and grinned. "Like what Frankie uses in his hair."

"Go to Hell, Xiao."

She played with the substance on her fingers. "It's like _Brylcreem_," she mumbled, putting emphasis on the word.

"Huh?"

"You know..._Brylcreem_. From the early Fifties."

They both stared at her as though she were speaking another language.

"Come on, you guys! Hell, Frankie, you born around that time, right? Men back then used it to slick their crops to the point where it could deflect bullets probably. The stuff controlled hair the same way the Soviet Union controlled East Germany. 'A little dab'll do ya'? You know that jingle, right?"

"...right..."

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up and unpack."

"Of course, ma'am."

"…you're kidding, right?" Yang asked in disbelief.

"No, I'm not. It's exactly as I put it."

"Well...it's just that...why now? Why this far in development? Why change your mind?"

Donovan cocked his head. "I've begun to realize that the failures of Project Epsilon and Project Omega weren't just because of the Tournament. It wasn't just interference by a few insane fighters. The complications are far too great..."

"So you're saying internal sabotage?"

"...yes, but that's not my point..."

"But this is even worse! You're telling me to destroy everything we've worked on for the past decade!"

"That's a bit of an overstatement..."

"But that's what you're saying!"

 "_Doctor_, if you'll just listen to me for a moment..."

Yang shook his head and stood up. "I'm sorry, Donovan. I'm sure whatever reason you have for wanting me to do that are perfectly reasonable, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm _just not going to listen to them..._" He began stroking the sides of his head. "No, no, no...this just won't do. I'm sorry, Donovan, I really am..."

Donovan stared at his drink, and after a few moments of anxious waiting on Yang's part, nodded. "Of course..."

The balding man sighed. "I understand. You...are entitled to your opinion. I was hoping for your support in this, but if that's what you believe..."

Yang looked away, out the triple-reinforced laminated glass window. The thunderstorm hadn't let up yet, but he didn't wish to spend any longer here. "If that's all you were going to ask, I'd like to go now."

Seemingly disappointed, Donovan stood up and leaned over the table. "Of course. I have no intention to inconvenience you by keeping you here longer than necessary." He extended his hand out.

Yang saw Donovan's hand and quickly extended his own right hand, only to realize that Donovan had extended his left. Frowning, Yang switched to his own left hand, and the two shook.

"Thank you for coming, Dr. Yang."

"And thank you for having me, Mr. O'Brien."

"I got the signal," she announced.

The trio, now resting on the top of the cargo crate in their heavy-duty raincoats, quickly scrambled into action. Frankie unlocked and opened his suitcase, revealing a gray mesh that held a satellite telephone attached to a larger electronic apparatus studded with lights and LCDs.

"Hurry up, Frankie," announced 'Boss', as she stared through the scope above a Hecate II anti-tank rifle that she and Xiao had carried with them and assembled. The huge French weapon was typically used to disable vehicles, but it was the only thing strong enough to pierce the fifty five-millimeter thick laminated glass of the _Helena III's_ windows. With the high-powered infrared scope, she could clearly see Donovan and Yang in the yacht's cabin, towards the bow.

"Give me a second, the equipments all wet..." Frankie hissed, dialing his phone with one hand and flipping various switches on the small apparatus with the other.

"I said you should have weather-proofed it..."

"Shut up, I'm getting a ring!" He held the phone up to head, and held his palm opened towards her, indicating for her to refrain from firing. She remained flat on her stomach, staring through the scope. "Doctor Yang?" he asked, in Contemporary Chinese. "It's Frank Tseng, I'm terribly sorry to bother you; I'm calling you from Shanghai. There's been rumors of a break-in at our headquarters in Hong Kong, and I was wondering if you could..."

'Boss' could see Dr. Yang's emotional reaction with her scope. _First thing he'll do is make sure this isn't a prank...that it really is Frank Tseng from Shanghai...that machine he brought will make sure of that..._ "Just give him a moment..."

And then, something strange happened. A visible door slammed open, and there stood a waiter, blood trickling from his neck.

_What...? _"Jesus, Arthur, what happened to you? Are you all right?"

Rather than answer, Arthur the waiter doubled over onto the floor, and in his place stood a young girl, still an adolescent, with lavender hair, and a bloody kunai (a short throwing knife) that she had retrieved from his back. A piercing stare that alarmed Donovan more than his dead waiter slowly crossed the room. The two crimson eyes stopped on the balding man.

"Dono-van?" she asked, with a heavy accent.

Donovan bit down on his tongue. He did not carry a gun. He thought it was brutish. He preferred to use intelligence and cunning, but he hadn't prepared himself for this sort of situation. He racked his mind for an answer, unable to take his eyes off the bloody kunai, and the best thing he could come up with was: "Yes."

Immediately, the tip of a boot collided with Donovan's jaw, knocking out one of his front teeth and sending him to the floor. Before he could react, she was on top of him, grabbing him by the collar and screaming something in Japanese. Donovan's understanding of Japanese was crude at best, and she was screaming too fast for him to understand. One thing he knew that, whatever she was saying, she was repeating it over and over again.

Donovan spat out some blood. "Please...please talk slower..."

Yang stared at horror at the girl pressing a kunai's edge against Donvoan's neck. "Frank...I'll have to get back to you..." he announced very slowly.

On the other end, not in Shanghai, but just a kilometer away, Frank Tseng screamed. "NO! DOCTOR, I NEED YOU TO CONFIRM THIS! IT CAN'T WAIT!"

Frank covered the receiver of the phone. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! Something's gone wrong!" he hissed at 'Boss'.

"No shit, I kinda' picked up on that from the little girl jumping in with that knife." She bit down on her lip. "I think I can get a clean shot at her..."

"Jesus Christ, you can't do that!" Xiao yelled. "What the hell's Yang gonna' think when that girl's head explodes from a bullet?"

"Well, I don't suppose that'll _matter _if Donovan is _dead..._"

Xiao attempted again. "Don't shoot! This is a fifty-caliber browning bullet! It'll go right through her and into Donovan!"

'Boss' paused, and her index finger left the trigger. "Frankie, you'd better get him to answer now..."

With all his strength, which was surprisingly less than the girl going for his neck, Donovan attempted to force his assailant back. He struggled to face Yang, the blade already cutting into his neck. The girl was still screaming something in Japanese.

"I'm...fine...Yang, just finish...your call..." he cried out, blood pouring down his shirt. "No rush..." he said, almost humorously.

Dr. Yang looked at Donovan, completely stupefied. _He's completely insane..._ Yang raised the phone to his mouth, and answered in Mandarin. "Yes, Tseng, the entire crop is in the location in Hong K…"

Ayane, whom had steadily been cutting into Donovan's neck, in the hope of keeping him alive just long enough to get what she wanted, understood Traditional Mandarin, and turned to Yang as he answered into his phone. She was just in time to see Yang's head explode.

The human brain, and indeed most developed brains, can be divided into gray matter (on the surface) and white matter (inside). But when a 12.7mm ballistic projectile goes through it at nearly 850 meters a second, all of it is more or less a pinkish-red tone, thanks to the brain's huge network of tiny, fragile blood vessels.

To even the surprise of Ayane, a veteran kunoichi, a fine film of Yang's blood and brain matter sprayed over nearly ever square inch of the room, thickness depending on its proximity to Yang's headless corpse, now deep red from the shoulders up. It collapsed onto the table, knocking over Yang's glass.

For a moment, Ayane and Donovan stared silently at Yang. Ayane ignored the fact that she was no longer slicing into Donovan's neck, and Donovan ignored the fact that his neck was bleeding profusely.

Ayane stared at Donovan. She had never met him before, despite his importance. And here she was, in his yacht, her hands soaked with his blood. She observed him: he was remarkably composed, even when he looked away from the headless body at back at her. Unlike her, he didn't seem at all surprised at the headless body. Rather, he looked at it with what seemed like an small feeling of relief. And then she saw it in her eye.

They had both gotten what they wanted, somehow. She released the lapel of his coat and stood up, wiping the kunai on the blood-speckled tablecloth. She glanced at the window, which now bore a large hole, wide enough for her to stick her finger through, and glanced at the opposite wall, which bore a similar hole. _A sharpshooter..._

She glanced at him, and shook his head. "You're pathetic."

Clenching his neck, Donovan laughed. She had spoken slowly enough for him to understand. "Is...that...true?" he asked. Somehow, even with his life gushing out of a long gash in his neck, he managed to be conceited.

She was impressed at his composure. "_Saiyonara_."

Donovan nodded, when the proverbially light bulb flickered in his head. "Wait...I..._know_ you..."

Ayane holstered the kunai and stepped to the door.

"You...you are sister..." he sputtered out in his beginner's Japanese.

She turned back to him, and flung the kunai at his face.

**Author's Note:**

I hope you enjoyed this! Not as much Ayane in this one…but what can you do? I might close this up in the next chapter...or I might make it _really _long...

It really depends on a lot of things...among them, I need a one of my readers (that's right, I know there are at least three of you out there!) who knows a lot about Ayane, Kausmi, and the DOA Mythology to contact me at _marksynthesisyahoo.co.uk ,_ and help me out. Please, I beg you! Ah...that came off a little strong...

Anyway, anyone who could help me out here would be greatly appreciated. I have (what I think is) a really good DOA Fanfic in the works, but I'm afraid of screwing up on the background details. Thanks!


	3. Is it the right price?

**Dead or Alive: Immortality**

**Chapter 3 – Is the price right?**

_"Good Evening. Our top story, Shanghai millionaire and pharmaceutical executive Yang Hui passed away yesterday while on a business trip to Hong Kong. Doctor Yang was the director of the Medical Research Division of DOATEC. The multi-billion dollar corporation, ranked just behind the British Petroleum in the world's largest industries, released his medical statements to the media, revealing that Doctor Yang had died of a massive stroke. He was fifty-four years old, and leaves behind a wife and three children."_

_Oh, who gives a fuck..._

Ayane lay down her clothes atop her bed, listening to the voice from the small apartment's television. It was early morning, and like most early mornings, she had just showered.

She hated mornings. Absolutely despised them. No matter how early she went to bed, she invariably woke up feeling horrible: her eyes were gummed closed, her throat was sore, the light outside was too bright, and she had no appetite. If she could afford it, she would spend nearly half-an-hour slowly waking up. It took a few hours for the awful feeling to wear off, and it didn't help that often, her work kept her up late. She performed best at night.

Once her clothes were set on her bed, she began ringing the water from her hair. The television continued, announcing in a deep, masculine voice proclaimed that "_this_ isCNN" before retuning to the report.

_"DOATEC Chairman Alexander O'Brien is expected to release a statement on Dr. Yang's passing later today. In other news, economic growth in North America has reached record lows in..."_

Ayane ignored the rest of the dialogue, and let her towel fall to the ground. Rather conveniently, a full-length mirror sat in the corner of the main room, and Ayane used it to inspect her body for any wounds or injuries that she might have missed during her morning stupor as she showered. As she expected, she saw none, except for a small bruise underneath her arm that she had gotten while brawling with multiple guards as she escaped the _Helena III_ the night before. She took the clothing from her bed and quickly pulled it on.

The voice from the television stopped, and was replaced with the music of an advertisement. As Ayane pulled her tight-fitting denim overalls on, the music was joined by upbeat lyrics that caught her attention.

_What are we doin' here?  
Why, it's perfectly clear  
We're bring good things to life  
We're bringin' you power, hour by hour over the borderline.  
What are we doin' here?  
Saving lives, lighting lights  
What are we doin' here?  
Generators, day and night  
What are we doin' here?  
We bring good things to all the world  
We bring good things to life.  
What are we doin' here,  
Up in outer space?  
We're helping the world go round  
Helping to make it a better place  
Put a smile on your face.  
What are we doin' here?  
Product placement and enhancement  
What are we doin' here?  
Satellites, communication  
What are we doin' here?  
We bring good things to life._

Ayane watched the commercial intently. She couldn't understand the lyrics, as they were delivered in English, but she could obviously see the visuals: a multi-cultural, multi-racial montage. Businessmen, laboratory workers, engineers of every race and background, most of them with a familiar corporate logo printed on their back, large enough to be visible in the commercial. Children of various ethnicities ran around, happily, posing for the camera, often times with corporate products from refrigerators to bottles of medicine. Brief scenes of the Great Wall, the Eiffel Tower, the Cathedral of St. Basil, and a skyscraper in Hong Kong flashed by. Then images of fighter aircraft taking off a carrier deck.

Ayane counted how many times she had seen the same corporate logo: thirteen. Then, once more, as the screen blackened and the song, with its upbeat lyrics, mercifully ended. Next to the last display of the logo, in bold white letters:

**_DOATEC_**

**_We bring good things to life._**

"My God, they must have ripped that off from somewhere..." This had been the first time she had even seen one of DOATEC's numerous commercial advertisements—she tended to avoid cable television. And it had been just as disturbing as she could have possibly imagined. Yes, that corporation was the consolidation of all evil in the world, yes, it deserved to be ground to dust, its leaders executed in horrific ways after long periods of torture that would make terror groups or the American CIA blush, if only for having released such a monstrous fifty-five second broadcast upon the world. "They all will have to die for that," she mumbled as she pulled on a formfitting red shirt underneath her overalls.

Trying to put the song out of her head, she glanced at the full-length mirror. Naturally, her regular black leather-armor was not desirable in her environ, even though she had washed the layer of blood and brain matter off of it the night before. No, one had to dress discreetly, to keep an inconspicuous profile. Without the armor or her short blue kimono, and with more normal attire for an adolescent female, she could pass through 'normal' society unnoticed.

Before another annoying commercial jingle could be heard, she switched the television off and prepared to exit her apartment.

**II**

He heard the wood-and-paper door of his private chambers open, and was about to demand whom it was when he heard another sound: a blade being drawn from its sheath. He did not immediately react. Instead, he slowly rose from his position of meditation and stretched out his arms, getting the blood to circulate through them.

"I've been expecting you," Hayate, ordained leader of the Mugen Tenshin School of the Ninjitsu Arts, told the figure behind him.

The other didn't respond. Instead, the newcomer brought his katana down on Hayate's face, only to have it parried by a shorter blade, a few centimeters from flesh. The assailant leaned into the attack, as sparks showered from point of contact between the two steel blades.

Eventually, Hayate broke free, leaned underneath his assailant, and gave a forward thrust with his short blade into his knee. The attackers saw it coming however, and cart-wheeled backwards at the last moment. He spun around, ran up a wooden wall, and jumped down from the ceiling, driving is katana deep into the floor where Hayate had been standing. It crashed against the floor mat, filling the air with thin fragments of bamboo.

Screaming, Hayate charged at the attacker, only to miss, be grabbed by the back, and flung into a wooden support beam. The beam shattered, and Hayate pulled himself out and struck again horizontally. The attacker countered a second time, delivering a painful kick to Hayate's face.

Pain surged through his jaw, and it took a moment for Hayate to recover. He looked up to see his assailant pacing away slowly, his katana lifted in defense. Hayate sheathed his own short blade and straightened himself out. The other followed suit, and they exchanged bows.

"It's been a long time, Hayate," Ryu Hayabusa exclaimed, once they regained eye contact.

"I suppose it has," Hayate retorted quietly, before returning to his seat on the floor.

The other shifted slightly, and exhaled.

"Why are you here, Hayabusa?" Hayate asked.

Knowing where the conversation was taking them, Ryu got to the point. " I had something to tell you. Something deserving your attention."

Hayate stared out the open door, his back facing Ryu. "Well, what is it that's so important?"

Ryu opened his mouth, then closed it abruptly. "You…really _don't_ care about her, do you?"

Hayate looked over his shoulder. "About _who_?" He scowled. "Is this about Kasumi again, Hayabusa? For the last time..."

Ryu cut him off. "It's..." he began, but he shook his head. "…you realize, when you regained your memory, you were expected to fulfill all your obligations, both to your clan and to the individuals in it..." He rubbed his forehead. "You returned to your post, and yet...you never really realized..."

Hayate swiveled on the floor to face Ryu. "Hayabusa...we've been over this already. I'm doing only what the Common Laws tell me to do. And while I do appreciate what Kasumi did for me, that doesn't change that she violated the laws. _You break the rules, you face the consequences. _You know that."

He stood up. "Besides…I really don't see why you let yourself get involved in this. Maybe it's just something I haven't remembered yet but…this whole issue with Kasumi really is a personal matter."

Ryu narrowed his green eyes, then made it apparent had had given up. He turned around and approached the exit, stopping just as he opened the door.

"It wasn't about Kasumi. It was about Ayane...your best shinobi. But again, I suppose it is still a personal matter." He glanced back at him. "Just don't expect to see her for some time." And with that, he left.

**III**

"Sir, please hold still..."

Alexander Donovan O'Brien shifted as a physician slowly removed the bandages around his neck, revealing the deep, twenty-centimeter long gash in it.

"Uhhg...stop!"

"Mr. Donavan, please!" the physician repeated. "Struggling will only make it worse."

In the President's office of DOATEC's Hong Kong headquarters, Donovan sat behind his desk, trying not to squirm. The physician finally removed the bandage and inspected the cut, still very deep and very raw. "That's quite a wound...I'd say about twenty stitches. Maybe less."

_"On my neck?"_Donovan demanded. But thanks to the deep cut, he was unable to talk over a whisper.

"There's definitely some damage to your larynx, though you're lucky. Whoever did this didn't intend to kill you."

_"Lucky?" _Again, more gasping.

"I'd really prefer doing this in a clinic, but seeing how you refuse to leave, I can do it right here...let me just get my equipment."

"Gahhh!"

"Listen, Mr. Donovan, it's absolutely critical that you get these stitches on. Any stress on your neck and you could tear the wound even farther open. Now, I'm going to give you a mild sedative..."

The door to Donovan's ornate office opened, and his secretary peered in. "Sir? There's a Captain Konoko to see you."

He nodded at her. "Good!" he rasped. "Send her in!"

The secretary frowned, and cupped an ear. "Excuse me?"

_"LET HER IN!"_

"Of course, sir."

Donovan took another look at the physician and pushed him away, as if to say 'we'll do it later', and sat as straight as he could in his chair. Even with various painkillers coursing through his blood, he was still in near-unbearable pain.

The door opened again, and another woman entered. This one, however, was dressed in what appeared to be an officer's military uniform, specifically, one intended to be worn by a relatively small man. The uniform had both a visor cap and trousers, neither of which would typically be found in a woman's martial attire. The outer layer of the uniform was almost entirely black, totally unlike any colors Donovan had seen on contemporary military uniforms. She also sported a webbed belt and a blazer marked with various insignia over a shirt and tie. She walked as smartly as she was dressed, coming to a stop in the middle of the office, just before the desk.

Rather than saluting, however, the woman bowed deeply and politely, her arms rigidly to her sides. "Mr. Donovan, sir."

Donovan nodded. "Captain Konoko. Good. Sit down, relax," he rasped.

Konoko removed her black visor cap, put it underneath her arm, and sat down at one of the chairs at the desk. "Sir, if I may, I'd like to apologize..."

"Nonsense," Donovan announced, interrupting her. "You did an excellent job, Miss Konoko. Even in the face of adverse circumstances, you were able to complete the mission successful." He smiled, a feat considering the pain he was in. "You truly are a credit to your organization."

Konoko bowed her head. "Thank you sir."

"You couldn't have foreseen that girl attacking me. None of us could. If anyone, I blame my security detail for not preventing the attack." He reached underneath his desk. "You performed admirably. So much so, that I'd like to give you a token of my appreciation."

After some struggle, he produced a briefcase which he set on the desk and pushed towards Konoko. The Captain glanced at it and pressed the latch, opening it. Donovan watched with pleasure as her eyes grew at the contents.

"That's two million pounds sterling," Donovan rasped, grinning. "In addition to your nominal fee, of course, already paid to your organization. You needn't report this...just think of it as a gift from myself." He cocked his head. "I realize the currency itself is new, but you needn't worry...the bills are non-sequential, and completely legitimate. We at DOATEC aren't common counterfeiters."

Konoko nodded slowly. "I...thank you, sir."

Donovan pushed the briefcase closed. "You're very welcome. Now, the reason I called you here..." Donovan paused, and rested back in his chair. He glanced at the physician. "Doctor, if you'll give us a moment. I'll call for you if my neck should start bleeding uncontrollably."

The physician nodded sheepishly and exited the office. Donovan continued, reaching into his breast pocket. "I have another assignment, requested of your organization. Seeing how you performed in the past, I'd like you to handle it, but I'll certainly understand if you or your superiors have any objections." He placed his glasses over his nose.

Donovan got his first clear look at Captain Konoko's physical appearance. Underneath her formfitting uniform, she had a lean but strong body, like a swimmer. Her face had high cheekbones and a small nose, with piercing green eyes, and possessed an unusual quality that Donovan couldn't completely put his finger on. Her hair, cut short for the visor cap, was dark violet. Overall, she was quite attractive, and he found himself strangely reminded of the lavender-haired girl whom had nearly slit his throat. Of course, Captain Konoko was older, he judged in her mid-twenties, half his age.

"What kind of assignment, if you mind me asking?" Konoko inquired, breaking the silence.

"As you can obviously tell, that girl who attacked me is now one of my major concerns." He scratched his nose. "I understand what motivated her to attack me, and I believe I know her next course of action. Before then, however, I'd like you to find her for me, if you might."

Donovan paused again. "Of course, I can't tell you who she is, nor can I reveal the exact nature of what she desires...but I believe if you keep an eye on this building, with a little detective work, you should be able to find her. And once you do, I'd like you to bring her to me, alive preferably."

Konoko leaned forward, listening intently. "I'm afraid that's all I can tell you," he explained. "My request to your organization will be just as vague, regrettably."

She leaned back. "Yes. I understand."

"Tell me, Captain, am I being…unreasonable?"

"No, not at all. So long as you file a request with my superiors promptly."

He nodded. "Of course. I know the rules, Captain."

"If that's all, sir," Konoko replied, standing up. She put her visor cap over her head, and turned to the exit.

"Oh, Captain..."

She turned, and Donovan was pointing at the briefcase with a finger, smiling.

"Oh yes, of course, again, you have my thanks, sir." She took the briefcase and left the office. The physician stood in the doorway, and slowly peered in as Captain Konoko left.

Donovan stared at him. "Are you still here?"

The physician adjusted his shirt cuffs, and glanced briefly at Konoko as she disappeared down the corridor, then at Donovan.

"What is it now? Is the cut bigger?"

The physician chuckled. "You're envious of her, aren't you?"

Donovan rolled his eyes to the point where the irises nearly disappeared. "That's right, doctor, I'm jealous. I'm jealous that she can probably run a kilometer in under four minutes, while I can't_ run _it. I'm envious that, on the rare occasions that she has sex, she probably has it better than I do, and for that matter, probably more often. And most of all, I'm jealous that she doesn't have a _giant hole in her neck! What the hell am I paying you for?_"

**IV**

Ayane stared up at the huge sign on the side of the building. Tacky, unmistakable, and completely lacking in subtly.

There could be now doubt.

Six massive letters, 'DOATEC', rose up from the crowded Hong Kong streets. A steady stream of business-suit wearing persons entered and exited via the sliding doors in the front, which were unguarded, it seemed. As discreetly as she could, Ayane nudged herself into the path of businesspersons and let the current carry her into the DOATEC Headquarters lobby.

The building itself was very unusual. She guessed it had forty or so stories, and was cylindrical, the outside walls lined with large windows. Through the center ran a sort of atrium, an empty space circumscribed by a second layer of thick glass and steel girders. She Ayane didn't really understand why such a construction was in the center of the building, but she felt in her bones that it must have some significance.

She worked her way through the lobby and towards the inner glass wall. It was crowded, though, and just as she reached the other side, she found herself pressed up against the glass by another body. Angrily, she shoved the offender back with her foot and glanced around, unable to find them, before turning back to the window.

The lobby's floor extended into the center of the atrium, though within the atrium, it was again more glass and steel lattice. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't clearly see through the various layers of glass and into what must have been the building's basement, and after a few moments, gave up.

_There's going to be a way to get down there._

Looking around the crowded lobby, she spotted an elevator, and ran up to it. As she expected, there was only one elevator call button, marked with an arrow point up, but she was confident that it wouldn't be too difficult. She struck the call button, and waited for the doors to open. After a few moments, they slid open to reveal a distracted-looking woman in a dark military uniform holding a briefcase.

The older woman promptly exited the elevator without a word, and Ayane could have sworn that she had been staring at her intensely out of the corner of her eye once she saw the kunoichi, but dismissed it. She entered the elevator and rapidly tapped the 'close door' key before someone else could enter, then struck the key for the top floor. It would give her some time to consider the situation.

The control panel for the elevator seemed thoroughly unremarkable, as Ayane inspected the various surfaces and panels. _Nothing.__ There must be a catch here or something..._

A bell rang, and the doors slid open. Ayane looked up, saw a businessman attempting to enter her car, and immediately grabbed him by the shirt. "Try the next one," she mumbled before forcing him back out and tapping the closing key again.

She continued her search, but was unable to find anything. Then a thought dawned to her. She looked up to see the usual emergency hatch on the elevator car ceiling. Nimbly, she overcame her shortness by pressing herself against the corner the walls and kicked the hatch open. Ayane then swung herself up and onto the top of the elevator car.

Well aware that she was still rising, Ayane glanced around the elevator shaft and noticed a small gap between the side of the car and the middle of the shaft wall. Popping her knuckles, she looked down at the gap between two of the four elevator support rails. It seemed large enough for her to slip through, but an error would be painful, if not lethal.

Ayane glanced up once more, took a deep breath, and leapt backwards and up. Once between the rails, she immediately spread out her arms and legs, fixing herself in place, and pressed her back against the shaft wall. The elevator car rolled past, nearly taking her fingers with it, and just as it cleared her head she released her hands and grabbed onto the cabling along the bottom side. She looked down the shaft, and estimated that she was about twenty stories up by this point. Looking back at the cable, she mentally calculated its length.

Gritting her teeth, she drove her fingers in between the cabling and jerked hard. The cable snapped and began unraveling rapidly, sending her plummeting down the shaft.

At the first of the basement floors, two guards wielding assault rifles stood before an elevator, both dressed in identical gray uniforms and caps. When the doors behind them slid open, they both turned, expecting to greet a familiar face. Instead, a, unfamiliar fist greeted the left guard in the face, knocking him backwards. The assailant took his rifle and based the other one over the head with it, in a single swift move, before he could react.

Leaving two guards lying unconscious on the floor, Ayane rolled out of the elevator, just as the hydraulics caused the doors to shut automatically. She rose to her feet and took in her surroundings: a long, sterile looking lobby. Her eyes stopped at something mounted on the ceiling: a security camera.

Ayane looked directly into the camera's lens as it turned to face her, brushed it away with a gesture, then continued walking. _Never let them see you fearful_, as the old proverb went. Guessing that she had anywhere from thirty seconds to a minute before there was a response, she crossed the lobby and into one of the unmarked doors.

The door led into another similar corridor, this one lined with glass windows and blinds on either side. Through the blinds, she could see various people dressed in white laboratory coats, staring over computers and beakers of liquid, chatting with one another over charts of human anatomy. Nothing stood out as particularly obvious, though. DOATEC Medical was, after all, a pharmaceutical company. Staying low enough to be discreet, she crept down the corridor to the next door.

The door, not surprisingly, was locked. There was a touchpad with a picture of a handprint on it, next to the doorknob. Ayane stared at it for a few moments, as she heard the door behind her opening and closing softly.

"Sorry, am I interruptin' somethin'?"

In the reflection of the locked door's smooth surface, she saw the woman in the black uniform. Both her hands were extended outwards, in a non-threatening manner. Ayane sighed and traced her fingers around the touchpad.

The woman gave a nervous laugh, and continued, in Japanese, in the Kansai dialect. "I thought it was a little _strange_ to see you again. Guess I was right."

"But we've never met," Ayane replied calmly, in Japanese. She glanced over her shoulder briefly. "I would remember."

"Nah, you're right, we've never met in person."

Ayane turned back to the door, and the touchpad. "Do you know what I want?"

"Not really," the woman replied. "But I'm thinkin' you should probably leave."

"I want to know if your hand print could open this door," Ayane reflected out loud. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a very short, but very sharp, kunai blade.

Behind her, Ayane heard a clicking noise, and turned to see the woman's formerly-empty right hand holding a gun. Ayane didn't see her produce it from a holster or anything, but it didn't really matter. The gun was aimed at her: that's what mattered.

The woman stared down the sights of the gun at Ayane. "You're awful young, you know that? But I have no qualms 'bout killing a little girl. I'm givin' you one last chance: step away from the door."

Ayane's lip twisted upwards in a smile. "Your mistake."

The uniformed woman barely had time to duck out of the way as a kunai went whizzing over her shoulder. She wasn't as lucky with the foot that came spinning to her face. Ayane dove feet first at her, knocking her into the ground and causing her to discharge her weapon in the air. Ayane landed behind her and was about to bring her fist down on her ribcage with the uniform spun to her feet and delivered a booted-kick to the kunoichi's jaw, knocking her backwards.

Ayane rose to her feet, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. The uniform glanced at her, then down at the handgun resting on the floor between them. She dove for it, and Ayane dove for her, enclosing her arms around her neck just as she reached the firearm. With the gun in her hand, the uniform attempted to aim it backwards at Ayane's head, but in doing so, she brought her right hand, and the gun, too close to Ayane's mouth. Ayane saw an opportunity and took it: she opened her mouth as wide as she could, nearly unhinging her jaw, and bit down.

The uniform screamed in pain, releasing the firearm, and trying to pull her hand from Ayane's mouth as the shinobi ground her teeth down on her flesh, with a satisfying crunching sound. The uniform kept pulling and howling in agony, striking Ayane randomly with her left hand with little effect, until Ayane released it. The kunoichi spat out some of the other's blood and, still pressing her to the floor, put her head on the other's shoulder.

"You've seen the darkness of the Hajin-Mon," Ayane whispered into her ear before smashing her head into the others with a loud 'thump'. The uniform's head fell to the ground, her visor cap rolling away.

The kunoichi rose to her feet, gazed triumphantly at her latest victim, and turned to the kunai that had buried itself in the wall behind her. She tore it free and was about finish the job in the bloodiest manner possible when the locked door clicked open, revealing several guards wielding assault rifles. Their leader didn't wait to ask questions, he sighted his rifle on Ayane and began firing.

Ayane flung the kunai at the leader, before leaping backwards, smashing the door behind her. The leader's dead body fell back on the others, and they struggled to get through the narrow corridor, without stepping on the uniformed woman. By the time they reached the broken door, the kunoichi was gone.

"Don't bother with her," the uniform mumbled, as a guard helped her to her feet, in perfect Mandarin. "You'd better help him," she said, gesturing to the dead leader on the floor with the kunai sticking out of his throat.

"No, I'm afraid he's dead, ma'am," one the guards announced after a brief inspection.

"Poor bastard," she mumbled, reaching for her cap on the ground. Her uniform was torn from the previous struggle, with various pieces missing, and the impressions of several sharp teeth remained her right hand, squirting out blood. She pressed it with her other hand. "God, any longer, and she'd have taken some of my fingers with her. Little bitch," she said, though not in a particularly angry manner. Her tone was more optimistic than angry.

"You're sure you're all right, Captain?"

Captain Konoko emitted a sharp laugh. "I'm fine, unless that little _kunoichi_ was infected with rabies, that is."

**V**

Ayane sprinted down an alleyway, not heading anywhere in particular, just away from DOATEC Headquarters. She glanced at the bloody arm-patch that she had torn from the woman's uniform. It bore a strange insignia she had never seen before: two handguns, crossed over each other, with their hilts at the bottom, over two letters in English: _OZ_.

She had never heard of such an organization, and it bothered her that this woman did not appear to be one of DOATEC's guards.

For centuries, ninjas had followed the ancient 'Rule-of-Two'. Ideally, it meant that a mission should only be taken on when there were only two parties involved. In this case, it was herself, a shinobi, as the first party, and DOATEC as the second.

Now, if this patch of clothing was to be believed, there was a third: _OZ_.

And since she knew nothing of OZ, she also knew nothing of the woman's motivations—she might have been hired by DOATEC, much like a shinobi, or perhaps she was merely after Project Epsilon. Perhaps _OZ _belonged to another corporation, one of DOATEC's rivals.

Whatever the case, if Ayane was to follow the Rule-of-Two, it meant one thing: she would have to eliminate the third party.

She licked her lips, with the distinct metallic taste of blood. Many things bothered her: what had the woman meant by "we've never met in person"?

Ayane wondered if she would see that woman again.

And at the same time, that was the same thing Captain Konoko was thinking.

She sat inside a luxury office inside DOATEC Headquarters, inspecting the bandages on her hand. The intense pain had finally subsided, and she flexed the fingers of her right hand as much as she could, which was a good deal, thanks to the good bandaging. She reached into one of her uniform's pockets, torn open from the fight, and pulled out a single dress glove, pulling it over her hand.

The door to the office opened, and a woman dressed in a contemporary business suit entered, bowing her head immediately. When she saw Konoko, in her torn and bloodied uniform, she was taken by surprise. "Uh…Mr. O'Brien will be with you in a moment."

Konoko nodded, and the businesswoman left. She continued flexing her hand, and removed her uniform blazer, set in down on the coffee table before her, and attempted to fix her black tie. As she did so, she noticed something in one of the blazer pockets.

She reached forward and took it: it was a satellite telephone, a novelty but not an unknown certainly. Satellite phones had been around for a few years, but newer, smaller models like this one were rarer. A quick press of a key launched the speed dial, and the phone emitted a tone.

"Yes?"

"It's Konoko," she whispered, putting the phone to her ear.

"How can I help you, Captain?"

"Run a search. Find out everything about a group…the 'Mugen Tenshin'."

"Understood, Captain."

Konoko turned the phone off and pocketed it, just as the businesswoman entered again.

**VI**

It took Xiao nearly ten minutes to gather his equipment and drive to his vantage point: the third floor of a convenience store across from a block of apartments. It took him another two to climb up the fire escape and pry open a window, and around a minute to unpack the Heckler & Koch MSG90A1 scoped rifle and set up its bipod on a window sill.

Even at low magnification on the scope, it didn't take long to find the target described to him—a girl with short lavender hair. Kneeling over, he lined her head in the crosshairs, and was about to pull the trigger when he felt his right eye tearing. He turned away from the scope, the sunlight through the scope leaving the image of the apartment silhouette burned into his vision, and set the rifle butt down.

Xiao rubbed his right eye and turned back to the scope, but was unable to find his target. He frowned and once more looked away from the scope, confused. _She leave the room? _He sat down, holding the rifle's stock in his right hand. As he shifted it, he noticed a small disk of light projected on the wall next to the window. Xiao blinked, and shifted the rifle again, watching the circle of light move in the opposite direction. He glanced slowly at the sunset, and the silhouette of the apartment building.

_Could she…?_

The sound of tennis-shoes crashing against the rickety fire escape echoed through the room, and Xiao snatched the rifle from the window sill and spun around to face the window adjacent to the fire escape, just in time to catch a sharp _kunai _in the neck. The oversized rifle fell from his hands, and he fell to his knees, leaning back slightly, trying to reach for his neck.

The figure standing in the window stepped down to the floor and approached Xiao, and with a thin hand, pushed Xiao over onto his back. It then reached down and, in a single swift motion, tore the shoulder-patch from Xiao's uniform.

Xiao watched, his vision rapidly blackening, as the girl whom he was supposed to have shot stood over him, inspecting the arm-patch. He felt himself slip to the floor.

"Awh-zuh," the kunoichi declared, before bringing her right tennis shoe down on his face, ending his vision permanently.

The kunoichi Ayane tossed the arm patch away and was about to leave the body when she heard a crackling noise. Upon inspection, she found a radio hooked onto the Xiao's belt. She unhooked it, and flipped the switch.

A voice screamed out on the other end in Mandarin. "Xiao! Dammit, you took your time. Did you get her?"

Ayane smirked at the radio, twirling it around in her hand.

"Xiao?"

She reached down and set the radio onto the ground, in the pool of blood that had formed next to Xiao's right arm, and turned for the door.

The radio crackled again, and the same voice came over.

"You little bitch."

Now it was in Japanese, with a Kansai-dialect.

"You _little _bitch," the voice mumbled. "Ya' think ya' so damn clever, huh? You killed Yang, and now killed one of ours."

_That woman in the uniform._

"Maybe I should tell ya' that _that _was a very big goddamn mistake you just made," the radio warned. "You really don't have any idea who we are, do you? No _fucking idea whatsoever_. Typical stupid shinobi brat. All fight, no brains. Like some sorta' ape with a sword."

Looking up from the radio, she heard the sound of mechanical rotors in the distance, getting louder. _A car?__ No, that's not it. _

"You can't run. No point tryin'. Unlike you ninjas, we're at every corner of the planet. Make no mistake, we're gonna' find you and kill ya'. Not for what you did to Yang. Not even for what you did to me."

The voice reverted back to Mandarin, taking on an almost-sophisticated air. "Make use of the rest of your youth, child. It ends here."

The sound of the rotors grew louder, until a metal colossal appeared in front of the apartment, slowly revealing its full size. _An attack helicopter._

"Though I do regret that I won't have the chance to face you again in person."

Ayane stood up, staring forward. She could just make out the figure of the pilot. She reached into her pocket, going for the explosive-tipped kunai, wondering if it would be enough.

**VII**

Konoko stood outside O'Brien's office in the DOATEC Headquarters, the radio in her hand. The kunoichi never responded—but she did hear the distinct firing sound of the M242 Chain gun mounted on the attack helicopter. It was normal procedure—Xiao _had _been a trainee, and their organization usually made sure that rookies would come back, even if something went wrong.

Not this time though.

She listened to the gunfire, sounding a strange rattling mixed with tearing canvas, until it was replace by static. She flipped the radio off, and slipped it onto her belt.

They had lost Xiao. Even though his death probably resulted from a mistake on his part, they had let him die.

It was a shame.

One of the reasons their organization was so successful came from the fact that there were very few fatalities—operatives always came back alive from missions. Every precaution was taken to make sure that was the case.

And Xiao was dead.

_Well, so is that shinobi-bitch too, now_, she told herself. At least that was some consolation.

Konoko glanced at the door to O'Brien's office, then put her arms behind her head and walked away. _Forget this. Let the shinobi and DOATEC kill each other. It's not worth the death of our own. _She slowly crossed the waiting room, rubbing the bandages on her hand, until her eyes stopped on something. The briefcase O'Brien had given her.

She took one last look at his office, and kicked it over with her foot. _We sacrificed Xiao for money. What a waste. _Still, they had consciously made the choice.

Either way though, it wasn't worth it. And it wasn't her problem anymore.

**Author's Notes:**

A disappointing end to an otherwise good chapter…still, I'm gonna' go ahead with this. Next stop: Japan!


End file.
